Son of the Blight
by WhiteMoon56
Summary: AU. Queen Elissa Theirin was not supposed to bear children. Not with the taint in her veins and in Alistair's. Yet the Maker works in mysterious ways. As the world suffers under new threats from all directions, Rowan Theirin is pulled into becoming a hero, and must accept what marks him as different in order to survive. Life was never going to be easy for a son of the Blight.
1. 11 Years Before: A Queen's Guilt

**A/N:** The plot bunnies were kind to me with this one, I had several chapters right off the bat. I've had this idea for a while, and finally decided to put it to paper. Please R &R and let me know what you think. So without further ado... thank you and enjoy!

* * *

Elissa presses herself deeper beneath the covers, trying to settle the roiling in her stomach. These bouts of sickness haven't gone away, and for the past several days she hasn't quite felt herself. Unwilling to trouble anyone with something that will likely pass, she's told no one. It usually only happens in the morning, anyway, so she's unsurprised when her dinner stays where it is and her insides no longer feel like liquid in her belly.

She tucks an arm beneath the pillow, sighing into the fabric. Outside, the moon hangs full in the sky, casting pale light through the billowing curtains and slanting in shafts onto the floor. The peace is almost unsettling, probably a factor in her lack of sleep recently. No more Darkspawn. No more Blight. No more Archdemon. The rogue in her, used to the year on the road and the feel of cold ground beneath a bedroll is knocked sideways by the feather bed and the silk sheets.

Her finger traces curls in the fabric, almost shiny in the moonlight. The Cousland, the noblewoman who once lived like this daily, pushes Elissa the rogue to the corner of the room and tells her those days are over.

There are, after all, more important things to worry about. Elissa sighs again, the war in her thoughts continuing since the wedding and the coronation weeks ago. Anora was right. She hadn't let reason rule her decision to make herself Queen-consort. And now she must live with the consequences, whatever they may be.

Alistair's hand is warm around her waist, keeping her close while his deep, sleeping breaths tickle the back of her neck. She closes her eyes, squeezes them together against the doubt and the guilt. She knows he'll be a good king, kind to the people and one all of Thedas can love.

But he wouldn't have done it without her. He didn't want to be king; he'd told her as much. But she believed in him, and she knew how much it meant to the people to keep the Theirin bloodline on the throne. And she'd made herself Queen-consort because she loved him, she didn't want to lose him, and she knew he would need her. At the time, it had seemed to solve everything.

Now? Now the reality of it is slowly setting in, like a knife to the stomach. She is the Queen of Ferelden, Alistair her King. They are expected to rule the country with fairness and understanding, for the good of all. They will be expected to have an heir to take up the crown.

The thought makes her heart skip around in her chest like a child at play. A baby. An heir to the throne from a king and a queen both tainted by the blight.

 _"All the Grey Wardens I knew who had children… had them before the Joining. Having an heir… might not be possible."_ Alistair's words, said with sadness in his eyes and the curve of his lips, ring around her head. What is she doing? What had she _done_?

Her chest tightens, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. _Idiot. Listening to your heart instead of your head._ Ferelden needed a queen who could rule, who would live a long life and raise a child to one day take her place. Not her. Not a Cousland with a dead family and the taint running through her veins.

A few silent droplets slip free of her eyes, trailing her sadness down the tip of her nose to fall against the silk pillowcase. When, not if, she and Alistair succumb to the blight, infighting over the throne will once more attack the lands. She, with that decision in the Landsmeet, had doomed the nation to more struggle. All for him. To spend more time with him, keep him in her life.

 _Selfish. Stupid._ She scolds herself, more tears falling faster down her face. Her shoulders begin to shake, despite her efforts to contain the sobs. The burst of emotion is startling; she hasn't cried this much in years. _It's starting to take a toll, all this responsibility I forced on myself._ Still, the tears continue, and she lets them, reveling briefly in the release of her guilt.

Then the hand around her waist tightens. Alistair murmurs worriedly, shifting beneath the blanket. "You're awake."

She swallows another rising sob, forcing calm into her voice. "Yes…" but the word shakes, wobbling past her lips.

"Elissa? Hey, come here. Look at me." He sounds more awake now, the concern outweighing the sleepiness. His fingers roll her toward him gently. When she at last faces him, he notices the tears and his lips turn down in that endearing way, curling into a frown that softens all of his features. "…You're crying." He lifts the hand from her waist to break the trail down her cheek, his fingers resting against her skin.

Almost smiling at his statement of the obvious, she nods, closing her eyes. "Yes." The word is stronger this time, but her sadness continues to flow. She hears the blanket shift as he moves closer to her, tucking her head into the crook of his neck and gathering her into his arms. Her opening gaze is greeted by the pale white of his nightshirt. _This… this is why I am selfish. Because he…_ She buries her face in his shoulder and sighs, the sound rattling against him.

"Whenever you're ready." His hand traces curls on her back while he holds her, waiting for her to explain. Because he thinks he can help, most likely. Because he wants to help.

She speaks into his shoulder, her words muffled by tears and fabric. "Did I do the right thing?" The hand curling over her back stops, frozen. She waits.

"Regarding what, exactly? Because there were several decisions made in those last Blight-filled days." Elissa hears the mirth in his voice, the forced light-heartedness that makes her smile so often. But not right now.

She lifts her head to see his face, tucking a strand of unruly curl behind one of his ears. His hair had grown in the time since she'd first met him, long enough to curl slightly. "This." She sighs again, leaving her hand against his cheek. "Us."

"Us?" He starts on the word, meeting her gaze with those amber eyes, now cracking with hurt. "What… that is… why is there a problem with us?" He hadn't stuttered in so long… She shakes her head, smiling slightly.

"No, not like that. _We_ are fine. As King and Queen, though, that us is less fine." Her hand falls from his face to rest on his shoulder, and she regards the relief returning to his eyes.

"We've barely started that adventure. Little soon to be judging our performance at this point, hmm?" His eyes trace over the details of her face, one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. "The way I see it, it could be worse. I could have lost you."

 _Don't play that card with me now._ She escapes his embrace and sits up, curling her knees together beneath the sheets. "…I know. But I… I was selfish at the Landsmeet. All I could think about was if you became king, I would lose you. But I also knew you needed to be king…" She shakes her head, trying to organize her rushing thoughts. He follows her, rising as well, a serious expression replacing the smirk.

"Elissa… you weren't selfish. You make a wonderful queen. All of Thedas sees it—" His hand curls around her shoulders, but she shrugs it off, ending his sentence. Tears resume their waterfall down her face.

"Oh, but I was. The future of Ferelden never even crossed my mind when I declared I would be at your side. Not. Once." Elissa wraps her hands around her knees. "It was naïve of me to think the world was fair, after everything we'd experienced. That I could possibly…" Her tears silence the remaining words, causing them to lodge against the lump in her throat. She changes the sentence, letting it slide softly into the room. "Ferelden would be better off if Anora had become your queen."

Alistair inhales sharply before reaching under her chin and cupping her face in one of his hands. He draws her closer, and she allows herself to be led, meeting his amber gaze with her watery green one. When their foreheads are touching, he speaks, the words soft and laced with the barest hints of anger and pain. "Never… never say that again. Okay? It's so incredibly far from the truth it hurts." He kisses her then, soft and sweet and gentle, all the things he is contained in one action. "Ferelden would have the worst, saddest king on the continent if the queen was anyone other than you."

Her heart flutters with love like a freed butterfly, but her head sings the same statement of fact. _You can't carry children. You're a Grey Warden._ The worry truly keeping her up at night trapping the butterfly, keeping it from soaring. She shakes her head, once. He doesn't understand. He doesn't know how important this is not only to the country, but to her, personally.

"But I… I can't have children, Alistair. _We_ can't. There is almost no possible way we can carry on the bloodline. And an empty throne will lead to more war, and more death, and I…" She leans into him, pressing her face into his shoulder and sighing when his hands lock around her waist. "…I don't want to be responsible for that." Not for more blood and death and broken families.

"Neither do I, since we're being honest. But this really isn't a problem you should be worried about right now. We have years to sort _that_ out." Elissa can feel his cheek bend in a smile against her hair. Unable to help it, she smiles as well.

Lifting her head, she loops her arms around his neck, feeling lighter than she had since the wedding. _Maybe, just maybe, this will work out in the end. Maker, please…_ Alistair kisses her again, moving one of his hands to the back of her neck. The kiss is deeper, less gentle, and it makes her head spin. A wave of heat washes over her, accentuating the dizziness, and she breaks away, reeling.

And not, decidedly, in a good way. Spots swim in her vision, freckling Alistair's face. He's speaking, but the words seem to come through layers of cotton. "—lissa? Are you—kay? –ssa!" Worry coating his eyes as he strokes her hair is the last thing she remembers before the darkness at the edges rushes to the front and takes her.

* * *

"—dehydrated. And rather weak. Has she been eating?" The slightly warbling voice reaches her through the darkness and drags her back to consciousness. She allows her eyes to remain closed; they feel as though they are made of lead. Her whole body feels heavy, as though she's not fully in control of it, and her stomach does flips and rotations with an almost systematic regularity. She feels well and truly ill, now. _I should have told someone…_

"As far as I know, yes. We eat together every day, and she hasn't lost her appetite." Alistair's words are sincere and concerned. His hand rests against hers, his fingers curled between her limp ones as though he can hold her in the world through sheer force of will. Through the worry, though, she hears the small smile in his voice. _If I had told him, at least, there would be a reason for this… whatever this is. Did I faint?_

Elissa attempts to recall anything that happened between the conversation with Alistair and waking up, and comes up with only an empty void. The feeling of not knowing bothers her; her instincts as a leader informing her that not knowing makes her weak. She shoves the thoughts aside as the older voice moves to the front of her mind once more.

"Based on what I am seeing, and what you have said, she should…" She cuts him off as she finally summons the strength to flutter her eyelids open, following the curling details on the four-poster bed before dropping her gaze to the source. The castle physician, dressed in a doctor's coat slung hastily over his nightclothes, peers at her over gold-rimmed spectacles. His grey eyes are watery, and his Adam's apple bobs as he speaks again. "Ah, Your Majesty. I am glad you awoke. You can answer these yourself, now."

"Elissa… you… don't do that to me." The words are whispered as Alistair tightens his grip on her hand, which she returns as her senses snap back into full awareness.

"I'm sorry…" she manages to speak, though her voice sounds dry and unusual. The physician coughs softly, drawing her gaze once more.

"Your Majesty. Have you experienced any other dizziness recently? Nausea? Bursts of… emotion?" He adjusts the spectacles with a single finger, pushing them higher on his nose while he waits. Elissa can't help but feel that he knows how she'll answer. He seems almost… pleased.

She clears her throat, attempting to make her voice sound like her own again. "…Yes, actually. For I'd say the past… three days? Nausea only in the morning, though. Usually. This was the first dizzy spell. And I've been feeling… teary-eyed as of late." _He looks like that just confirmed something. What am I missing?_

Alistair's hand squeezes hers once, like a silent reminder and apology. She moves her thumb in a circle over his knuckles. _Not your fault._

The physician _hmm_ 's softly, folding his thin fingers together in front of him. "These are common symptoms, Your Majesty. The fainting is a bit unusual, but I will ensure you are under the best care for the duration."

 _Duration…_ She tips her head, sudden apprehension causing her heart to stutter. "…of what, exactly?"

With a soft laugh, the physician's eyes almost seem to twinkle behind his glasses. "Your pregnancy, Your Majesty. I am nearly certain this is the beginning."

The entire world stops. Alistair's eyes are frozen, hopelessly wide. The physician's smile is stuck to his face, unwavering as he grins at the happy, expectant royal family. Elissa can't breathe, can't think, can't speak. The words pulse against her skull, over and over. _Your pregnancy. Your pregnancy._ Every tainted vein reflects the sentence, warping it, changing it. It shouldn't be possible. She was told it wasn't possible. But it would explain the morning nausea, the sudden tears.

Her stare turns to Alistair, his eyes still wide with shock. His hand clenches even tighter around hers, as though in slow motion. She desperately wishes she knew what he was thinking. Likely the same thing she is: How did they overcome the taint? Why them? Why now? Then Alistair laughs, the sound nervous and excited wrapped together, and everything moves again.

"A… baby, Elissa. We're going to be parents." His eyes shine as he lifts their joined hands to kiss the back of hers. The genuine smile on his face is almost contagious, were it not for the worry darkening the joy. She closes her eyes as Alistair wraps her in a hug, running a hand through her hair. There's a soft swish of fabric as the physician bows and departs. The sound of the door.

She should feel elated. Her worries are ended; there will be an heir to the throne, of Theirin blood. Her selfish claim as Queen-consort at Alistair's side will not end in war. And yet… and yet. Every pulse of her heart reminds her of what flows through her veins, and what flows through his. There is not a single drop of clean blood in either of them. What hope does a child of that blood have for a normal, happy life? Elissa bites her lip as the horrible realization crashes over her. She _can't_ carry children.

She's a Grey Warden.


	2. 10 Years Before: Son

He is born the 18th day of Cloudreach, 9:32 Dragon. And he isn't breathing. Each of his veins is black, visible beneath his pale skin. They look like lines of ink drawn on his skin, crisscrossing here and there over his small body. Alistair cradles him to his chest, pain and worry creasing his forehead. "No, no. Maker, no. Not him."

 _Don't… don't take him from me. Please…_ Elissa lacks the strength to speak, still gasping from the effort of bringing her son into the world. Weak and shaking, she watches the physician snatch him from Alistair's hands and carry him to the corner of the room, hands moving with precision, trying to bring air to his lungs. He makes no comments on his veins, focused solely on helping him live. Seconds pass. She feels Alistair's hand slip into hers, murmuring incoherent comforts as he moves his thumb in circles over her knuckles. _Not my son… Maker… please, I beg you._

The silence from the other side of the room is deafening, speaking of the lack of life, the lack of air. Her heart hammers out her loss against her rib cage, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. _I knew it was too much to hope for…_

And then, a powerful cry. Several gasps of relief. Her heart stops hammering, now pulsing with shocked relief. _He's alive. Thank you._ The tears flow freely, racing each other down her cheeks. Alistair lets out a small laugh, the sound light and free in the silence. Their son cries only once, settling almost immediately into another silence. The physician finds a blanket to wrap him in and turns around, holding the little bundle gently with a smile on his face.

"Your Majesties, may I present your son." The child he carries to her arms is pale, almost deathly so, with a wisp of hair and wide, dark eyes. His veins are still prominently visible, covering his skin in a shocking reminder of his origins. He looks up at her with those eyes, breathing steadily albeit shallowly, and she can feel his heartbeat against her chest through the blanket. It sounds as though it's working in overdrive, simply to allow him to breathe.

 _So strong… and yet so weak._ The tears threaten her again as Alistair's arms close around her and the boy, cradling them both in his embrace. He presses a kiss to her forehead, looking at their son with a protective, loving gaze.

"Our son, Elissa. _Ours._ I am a father… Maker's breath. If you told me a year ago I'd find the love of my life and become a father, I would have laughed in your face." He reaches out and strokes his son's head, causing the boy to close his eyes and the tiniest smile to flit across his lips. Elissa grins and laughs through her tears, heart swelling with gratitude and love for the both of them. Her worries over his future are forced to the far recesses of her mind, to be dealt with later. Right now, she just wants to be happy. Just for right now, at least.

"What are we going to name him?"


	3. 6 Years Before: Doggle-Boon Behemoth

"Rowan?" Elissa knocks lightly, pushing the ornate wooden door to the library inward as she does so. It glides open silently on oiled hinges, blissfully not disturbing the peaceful silence settled like a blanket over the cavernous room. Slightly down the hall from Rowan's room, the library is about as far as his legs will allow him to walk. _He practically lives in here now._

She bobs steadily between the stacks of books, searching for his pale blond head amid the stories. The towering shelves lining the walls arch over her as she moves, leaning in as if begging her to peruse them. But she doesn't stop, continuing her hunt. It reminds her oddly of stalking through the Brecilian Forest years ago, weaving between trees and bushes, daggers drawn for signs of prowling werewolves or shuffling sylvans.

The memory makes her smile, the trees and leaves dissipating back to the paper and ink. Castle walls rise once more to hold her in. She shakes her head as she nears the far back corner of the room, noticing a few more candles lit than normal. _He shouldn't be walking this far in his state…_

Rounding the corner, she opens her mouth to scold him for straining himself, but the sight of her son brings the words to a halt. He's buried in stories up to his bright green eyes, sprawled across a pile of pillows. Several candles burn brightly in their holders, casting shadows over his golden hair and sheet-white skin. His veins appear less prominent, the dark tint fading over the years. She reclines against a shelf and simply watches him run a small finger down the words, as though actually reading them.

He pauses to shake a too-big sleeve back down to his forearm, rolling the limb back and forth as the fabric slides back to where it should rest. His thin frame constantly causes his clothes to hang loosely; everything has to be specially made. This particular shirt was a gift from Leliana, acquired in Orlais and made of fine fabric. Unfortunately, it is still much too big, though designed for a boy his age.

Tears sting her eyes as she remembers the Warden telling her he will not get any stronger. _"He has the taint in him already, by the looks of it. As though he's already a Warden. It's unlike anything I've ever seen before. I don't know what to tell you. His body was not allowed to become strong before it was weakened. I don't expect him to live very long at all…"_

With another head shake, she walks to him, pausing on the edge of Pillow Mountain to smile down at him. _He's alive now. And I'm going to take every precious second I can get._ He doesn't appear to notice her arrival, instead keeping his attention firmly on the book in front of him. Elissa tilts her head to peer at the words, though a few blond curls obscure the beginning of the sentence.

 _…ith the help of a rather ragtag group of friends, the Hero of Ferelden slew the Archdemon at the Battle of Denerim, ca. 9:31 Dragon. She and Alistair Theirin both survived the battle, returning to the capital to take their places as King and Queen of Ferelden, continuing the Theirin bloodline as rulers of the country._

 _Their rule has so far been a time of peace and prosperity for the nation. Both the new king and his queen are dearly loved by the people, bringing hope to a land ravaged by the Fifth Blight._

Rowan closes the book with a soft, hollow sound, laying it on the top of the stack to his left. He rolls onto his back slowly, moving a limb at a time, and his face wrinkles slightly as he returns her watchful gaze. "Hi, Mama!" He breaks into a bright smile, the wrinkle of what she assumes was pain vanishing upon seeing her. His face turns serious as he lets his eyes dance over the shelves before returning to her. "…You're so quiet. I didn't even hear you and you were right there!" One of his eyebrows rises slightly higher than the other one, disappearing into his hair. "How do you do that?"

Elissa laughs silently. _So curious…_ "One of my many talents. And years of practice." She kneels to ruffle his hair, sitting next to him on the pillows. "Read anything interesting?"

He nods eagerly, shifting so he can climb into her lap. The action takes effort, determination darkening his eyes, and her heart stutters as she watches him move slowly to reach her. When he succeeds, he sinks into her arms, smiling. "I think that one was about you." He points to the book he just closed, balanced precariously on the pile nearest them. "I found your name. But there were too many long words. I need to get better before I can read that one."

"You'll soon be reading every book in here with no trouble. Mark my words." She smiles and bounces him in her lap. Reading is about the only thing he can do with little trouble, weak as he is. The taint takes a toll on his body, claiming more than he can give. But his mind is bright, strong, willing and eager to absorb all he can about whatever he can get his hands on. Elissa presses a kiss to the side of his head. He giggles and arches sideways, out of her reach.

"Mama! No kisses!" He tries to wave her away before admitting defeat and succumbing to a few more on his forehead and his cheek. "Fine… a few." The forced annoyance in his voice is offset by the smile covering his lips. Elissa glances out the window, where the sun has just dipped below the horizon. Rowan turns his head into the crook of her neck, and she can feel his eyelashes against her skin as he blinks several times. "I'm… tired, Mama." He suddenly goes nearly limp in her arms, the excitement of the day crushing his small body.

 _My brave boy…_ She plants another kiss into his hair, and he doesn't even react. Gathering him against her, she stands, extinguishing candles in his corner. Pillow Mountain remains undisturbed, awaiting him tomorrow.

In the darkness, he whispers again, his voice weak. "Can you… _tell_ me a story, Mama?"

"Absolutely. Which one?" She begins picking her way back through the library to the hallway, keeping him steady in her arms.

"The one about the… Bih… beh… Be-hee-moth." He tries to fit his mouth around the complicated word, eventually drawing it out with success. Elissa smiles, though he can't see it.

"That one again? You really like that one, don't you?" She adjusts him against her shoulder. He nods, his hair tickling her neck. "Then of course I'll tell you that one." She begins the story as they continue their walk through the library.

 _"Beware ye well, my son and belle, beware ye well the calling. For you will face, with time and grace, our failing and our falling. My failing and my falling."_ She nearly trips over a fallen book in the dark, recovering with rogue-like grace.

Rowan laughs softly. "Careful, Mama."

She tightens her grip on him and laughs as well before continuing. _"We sought the beast at farthest east, and paid a bloody tithing. So will I will that you would kill, and end its fabled writhing. And end my fabled writhing."_

Pausing, she reaches the door to the library, pulling it open while balancing Rowan carefully. In the doorway, the third verse. _"A doggled-boon our hopes had strewn, a bargain drained and straining. So gird in steel and train your zeal, and pray its will is waning. And pray my will is waning."_

Rowan sighs into her shoulder as she begins the short walk down the hallway. _"A bander snatched and hander matched, no jabber whilst you're walking. Do not be swayed to drop your blade, when danger comes a-stalking. When Mother comes a-stalking."_

Nearly to his room, his eyes are fluttering with the effort of staying awake. _"Your eyes are green as its had been, the doggle-boon behemoth. Your heart is true and arrows too, but can you two unsee wroth? For I could not unsee wroth."_

He smiles sleepily as they cross the threshold to his chambers. "My eyes are green, Mama." The words are soft, tired. Elissa nods.

"Yes they are, Rowan. Like mine." She sets him on the edge of his bed and brings him his nightclothes, changing him gently and tucking him beneath the covers. _"For though you win, hold fast your twin, there's danger celebrating. Renew this day, and call callay, but now begins the waiting. As then began my waiting."_

He sighs again, quietly, the sound tugging on her heart as she comes to the last verse. The words stick in her throat, watching him so small and frail. He turns his head to look at her, waiting. "I can do it, Mama. I like the last verse."

Elissa smiles, taking one of his hands. "Okay. You end the story." She sits on the edge of the bed while he recites in his gentle voice.

 _"Beware ye well, my son and belle, the red, your will it… lee-ches. And wail you will for kin to kill, until your heart it reaches."_ He smiles at her, proud and bright, and delivers the last line. _"Unless my lesson teaches."_

She leans to his forehead and kisses him goodnight, and he wraps his hands around her neck. "Sleep well, my little storyteller. I love you."

"Good night, Mama. I love you too." Releasing her, he pulls the blanket up to his chin and nestles into the warmth, closing his eyes. Elissa stands and pulls his curtains slightly open, allowing a slice of moonlight to brighten the room enough to barely see. He appears even smaller in the dark, tucked into the large bed.

She folds her hands together in front of her and takes several long breaths before slipping out of the room and back into the hallway. Her heartbeat slows to normal and the tears recede. _Maker... please take care of him. Keep him safe. Keep him alive._

 _I don't know what I'd do without him._


	4. 4 Years Before: Arrows and Whispers

"Papa, is that bow for _me_?" Rowan leans over the edge of his bed, eyes wide in the sunlight streaming through the window. His bright gaze is trained on the small bow in Alistair's hands, the note tied to the wood swinging back and forth.

 _I thought it might be alright for him to be allowed to try, at least. The Crows always emphasized trying. It might be good for him, who knows? If not, it will make a fabulous wall decoration. Tell him I send greetings from Antiva! The weather is lovely._

 _-Z_

Alistair smiles and shakes his head, glancing at Elissa out of the corner of her eye with a look that says _Zevran…_ She returns the smile and nods, shrugging helplessly. The elf is his own person. Far be it from her to try to control him.

Pulling on the note's string gently, it falls into her hand, where she folds it and tucks it into the pocket of her dress. She nods at Alistair, who moves closer to Rowan and sits next to him. "It appears it is. Think you can handle something this powerful?"

"Of course I can!" Rowan almost jumps into Alistair's lap, wrapping his arms around his father's neck and smiling into the fabric of his shirt. "I want to try it. Can we… can we go outside?"

Elissa inhales slowly, marveling at the sudden burst of energy. Although still terribly pale, the shine in his eyes this recent year has allowed a new swathe of determination, farther walks, and even more time in the library with the books. Her heart has beaten easier than it has for six years. She smiles as Alistair nods, laughing.

"Well, we're not going to start firing arrows inside… so I guess we have to, right?" He twists out of his son's grip and hands him the bow, gently, waiting until Rowan's hands close around it securely before letting go.

Rowan's eyes are bright with excitement as he turns the weapon over in his hands, mouth forming a small, precise "O" of wonder. Elissa feels her pride curl in her chest; he is alive, he is stronger, and he is her son. He will survive and grow to be a fine prince. For now, however, Alistair lifts him into his arms and carries him through the castle to the courtyard. Elissa trails not far behind, smiling at Rowan over his father's shoulder.

The castle's training grounds are blissfully empty, devoid of soldiers practicing or the clipped voice of the captain. Alistair sets Rowan down in the archery field, retrieving him a small quiver of arrows. The target looks so far away compared to his small frame. Elissa laces her fingers together and gives the two of them space, listening to Alistair's attempted coaching.

"Okay, good, good—no, don't point it at me! Yes, over there. Okay, now, take this arrow and fit it… there, yes, good. Not bad at all, but—hey, don't point it at Mama either, okay?! Arrow directed at the target or the ground. No, I'm not mad, of course not. I just like both of my eyes, and I'm sure your mother does too."

Elissa laughs silently at Alistair's stumbling teachings, but Rowan turns an eager face to her, a bright smile dominating most of his face. He's shaking slightly, a bit unsteady, a bit weak, but he's smiling. Alistair keeps a steadying hand on the small of his back as he kneels next to him, lifting the bow and aligning the arrow. Then his eyebrows fall over his amber eyes as he meets Elissa's gaze over Rowan's head.

"Wait… why am I doing this? You're the archer of the family, Hero of Ferelden. Come show Rowan how it's done." He waves her over, grinning playfully. Elissa obliges, joining them both and crouching at Rowan's side.

"You were doing well, Alistair. I would have interfered earlier had you been about to break something." She flashes him a wicked grin. Her husband rolls his eyes, but Rowan laughs, the movement shaking his small frame. His arms twitch as he lifts the bow, pulled as taut as he can, and releases a shuddering breath through his lips. He becomes eerily still, eerily calm, all smiles fading.

His form is… well, perfect. Elissa blinks. Alistair's eyebrows disappear behind his hair. They exchange a look, and he drops his hand as unspoken words pass between them. Rowan doesn't seem to notice the sudden lack of support, his jade eyes fixated on the target in the distance. He looks like an archer with years of experience to perfect his form, like a boy who has been holding a bow since before he could walk. But he isn't. He hasn't. And the sight of him so calm and so sure is almost unsettling.

She can't ponder his form anymore as he stands straight, inhales, and lets the arrow fly on an exhale without being told. It sails beautifully through the air, the twanging of the bowstring an all too familiar sound, and sinks into the dead center of the target fifty feet away. No one moves as its fletching vibrates rapidly. All three of them stare before Alistair lets a low whistle slide into the stillness. "Where did that come from? That was… that was incredible!"

Rowan drops his gaze to the ground, blinking rapidly. He shakes his head and rubs one of his eyes. "I… I don't know. I… did I do that, Papa?" The words are whispers, hoarse, and Elissa wraps a hand around his waist. He's swaying again, dangerously so, and his veins, once grey, fade to deep onyx once more. He falls against Elissa's side, limp. The bow slips from his hand and falls silently to the dirt.

Panic flutters in her chest, bright and screaming. _No. No, not him. Please, no._ "Rowan? Rowan!" She lays a hand on his forehead, and is nearly burned by the sudden heat. Pressing him against her chest, she gathers him into her arms and stands, dashing back to the palace. "Get the physician!"

Alistair doesn't hesitate either, flying to his feet and off at a dead run. Elissa prays fervently as she carries Rowan back to his room, his body warm, too warm, against her. _Maker please, I beg you. Don't take him away from us. Not when we've had so little time._

Rowan begins speaking, wrapping one of his hands in the fabric of her dress. "Mama? It wants me to find it. It—ah!" His words are cut off as he twitches, nearly whirling right out of her arms. She holds him closer.

"What does, Rowan?" _Keep him talking. Keep him awake. Don't let him fade._

"The…" he pauses, gritting his teeth together so they rattle while she runs. They've reached the castle by this point, and she thinks only of getting him cold, keeping him cool. This has happened before, but never this violently. He tries again to finish his sentence. "The… behemoth. One of them. It… it hurts, Mama."

 _The behemoth._ Rowan's favorite story skips around her head. It's real meaning, what it alludes to… _He can't possibly know that._ And yet he speaks as though he understands what it means. She presses her lips to the side of his head, his skin still warm. "It's okay… I know it does. I'm here, and soon it will go away." _I hope._

He shakes his head as she reaches his room, the physician already waiting, wringing his hands. Alistair hovers in the corner like an overprotective mabari, blinking, straining to see them. She weaves past them, to the bath, where the tub is full, thank the Maker. Elissa strips her son and plunges him into the water. It sizzles when he breaks the surface.

His head continues to shake, back and forth, back and forth, like a pendulum. She pours water over his hair, and it rolls down the blonde strands to splatter the walls and the floor when he doesn't stop moving. "Rowan… Rowan, stop. You have to stay still." She catches the side of his face in her hand, and his wide green eyes meet hers, full of pain. It cracks her heart.

The physician kneels next to her, resting a hand against Rowan's chest, listening. His brow furrows in a decidedly un-comforting way. "His heartbeat is out of control. We have to calm him down, and keep him cool. Don't let him move too much. Whatever triggered the reaction, it's literally burning him from the inside."

What had triggered the reaction was the way he stood, like a skilled archer with years of training. She didn't understand it. Hadn't then, and didn't now. It hadn't been an overly taxing action. He'd simply collapsed after delivering a nearly perfect shot. She traces her thumb in a circle on his cheek as the physician moves away from the tub to make room for Alistair. _What does it mean?_

Her husband kneels, pouring water over Rowan's head. His eyes are still wide, but they lock to Alistair's face now, bright and scared. "P-papa…" he stutters, as though searching for the words. "It won't leave me alone. It's… sharp."

"The behemoth?" Alistair is unfazed by the word, by the possibilities and the meaning. He looks at Rowan with honest understanding, the Taint in his own veins a fierce reminder. Elissa makes herself silent, still holding Rowan as he nods. Alistair smiles, though the gesture is brittle. "What I do… is I close my eyes, and think of something happy. Anything at all. A good memory, a favorite story, a song. Then I repeat it, over and over again, until my head belongs only to me." His hand twines with hers, anchoring her to the moment, to the sound of his voice. It keeps the panic from taking her, and she is silently grateful.

She remembers the nightmares, when the Archdemon was still alive. One of many things they shared during those quiet nights in camp. Waking, terrified, to his amber eyes across the fire, understanding. Elissa shakes the thoughts away. During a blight for Wardens is one thing, but for voices to be bothering _Rowan…_

He closes his eyes, begins whispering in a faint voice. _"Beware ye well, my son and belle…"_ Elissa watches the edge of Alistair's mouth flick up in a smile, and finds herself mirroring it. That story, of course he would pick that story. But if it works, she'll accept anything.

He's on the third verse when the water begins to cool. His veins' stark onyx fades, if only slightly, and his voice becomes steadier. Elissa releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, tipping her face into Alistair's shoulder. Rowan finishes the story, the last words hovering in the now silent room. He reaches out to touch her hair, drawing her attention back to his gentle face. But what he says next does not soothe the worry in her heart.

"Mama, it's still whispering. But I'm louder now."


End file.
